


Heart of a Beast

by Zoadgo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ghoul!Clarke, Human!Bellamy, Monster!AU, everyone dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is in the nature of monsters to kill. Every human knows this, without needing to be taught it. So they stay in their own, heavily guarded territories, or ensure their paths only cross through allied lands. Every human except Bellamy Blake, who finds himself lost in ghoul territory after sunset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It is in the nature of monsters to kill. Every human knows this, without needing to be taught it. So they stay in their own, heavily guarded territories, or ensure their paths only cross through allied lands. Every human except Bellamy Blake, who finds himself lost in ghoul territory after sunset.

Had he taken any other route between the colonies, he would have been fine. But the neutral road winds around the forests, and he’d wanted to get home quickly. Werewolves would know as soon as he entered their woods, and even though the local pack is usually fairly accepting, he hadn’t wanted to risk it without any form of payment on him. Same with the faerie glades, although he’s wishing that he’d decided to risk their pranks and minor annoyances right about now.

Screams rip through the woods that had seemed like any other just moments ago. Ghouls too eager for the hunt, exposing their fragile skin to the last rays of sun and paying the price in burned flesh. Not that it would kill them, mind you. No one knows how to kill one, except others of their kind. The screams don’t die down with the fading of the sun, though, and Bellamy’s no longer sure if they’re sounds of suffering or of excitement.

“Just had to take a shortcut. Now you’re going to die in some creepy woods, and no one will ever find your body.” Bellamy immediately wants to smack himself for making more noise than his feet crunching through dead leaves. But smacking himself would produce yet more sound, and he really does want to get out of this night without having his flesh devoured by monstrosities.

So he focused on walking quickly and quietly, as the night air grows cold against his sweat-covered skin. He swears he can see forms flitting behind the skeletal trees, emaciated shadows hungry for a victim. Trying to calm himself down is pointless at this stage, so he tries to focus the fear in order to get out of there as quickly as possible. Of course, he has no idea which way is “out”, but right now he’s willing to take his chances with any of the other creatures who live around there. Just not ghouls.

“God, you stink.” Bellamy jumps out of his skin when a female voice comes out of the woods behind him. He spins, reaching for weapons he doesn’t have. Good planning, Bellamy.

He expects a grotesque creature, or perhaps an animal, but instead Bellamy finds himself facing what looks like a young woman who has her nose wrinkled in distaste. Its eyes are startlingly blue, testament to whatever supernatural force keeps it, and its kind, animated. Its hair is the purest gold he’s seen, untarnished by the dirt of the forest. The most amazing thing is its skin. Bellamy had expected a ghoul, or any of the nocturnal creatures, to look sickly and pale. But this beast’s skin shines, as if it were the thinnest porcelain barely containing an ethereal light.

It walks up to him, confident like a panther stalking through the plains. Bellamy is frozen in place. This is how he dies, there’s no way for him to escape now. Even if he happens to be close to a territory border, a ghoul in hunt wouldn’t even consider the hypothetical line when pursuing him. And if he was eaten on someone else’s land, well, they’d just have to pay a fine.

It stops in front of him and casts a gaze over his body that Bellamy is used to seeing from other people, but not from monsters. It must be trying to determine what his value is as breakfast, surely. A slow smile pulls at its lips, and it holds a hand out to him.

“I’m Clarke. You, oh stinky human, may want to stick close to me if you ever want to make it out of here alive.” The hand stays still as Bellamy stares at it, as if the creature is waiting for him to shake it.

“I… what?” Confusion sets in as Bellamy doesn’t feel his flesh being ripped from his bones. Is it playing with him?

“You really ought to be more polite to your saviour, you know. Introduce yourself, all that.” It’s still smiling at him, and Bellamy has to remind himself that it is a monster, not a stupidly attractive girl.

“Why should I trust you?” A human name is a powerful thing, the only power they have outside of technology. It’s useless while the human is alive, but many witches pay well for deceased names, using them to summon the essence of the human for spells, potions, or even creating new hybrid beings.

“You have no other choice.” She- no, _it_ \- laughs as if he’s a small child who asked a very silly question. “You remain unmolested for now because I’m here with you. If I leave, you become fair game for my people.” 

“Your _people_?” He cringes at her use of the term “people” to refer to beasts, but the way it used the term made it possessive, as if it rules them. Bellamy had never paid that much attention to ghoul culture, it was mostly guesswork anyway, but he doesn’t recall them having a leader. The slight smile grows into a grin made predatory by the pointed teeth it reveals, and the ghoul throws its head back in some strange mix of a howl and a screech.

The screams that had become background noise since sunset are drowned out by the gut-wrenching cacophony of hoots, howls, and manic laughter that answers the call. The chorus of insanity carries on for far longer than Bellamy is comfortable with, worming it’s way under his skin. Some of the more disturbing calls, like a child’s shrieking laugh, are terrifyingly close, hurting his ears with their proximity. He claps his hands to his ears, but it does little to protect him from the baying of the ghouls.

Eventually the noises die down a little, but not completely. He’s fairly certain that these woods must only be quiet during the day. The beast that calls itself Clarke is standing over him, holding its hand out palm up to help him to his feet. Bellamy doesn’t even remember dropping to his knees. He ignores the gesture and clambers to his feet on his own, dragging a hand over his face and finding tears on his cheeks. He doesn’t remember crying, either.

“I…” His voice comes out in a croak, and Bellamy clears his throat before trying again, “I thought ghouls didn’t have a leader.”

“We don’t!” Clarke seems remarkably carefree, as if the sounds of mayhem hadn’t affected it at all. Perhaps whatever terrible spell those noises weave doesn’t harm those who are part of it. “But I’m the strongest and the most likely to eat my fellow ghouls. They respect that enough to stay away from anything I’m hunting, which they believe is you. For now.”

“But…. you’re not hunting me?” If it is hunting him, Bellamy wishes it would just eat him. 

“Nope. Never quite liked the taste of human. Too much fear in you, it makes you bitter. Some of my brethren don’t seem to mind, but they would eat dirt if they thought they could hunt it. I prefer were, now that is delicious. The bravado of a young were is a rare treat. Unfortunately, they don’t tend to wander into our territory anymore.” She pouts, like a child who’s been told they can’t have candy anymore, “So I stick to ghouls, primarily. Insanity is close to bravery. Two branches of the same tree.”

“You… eat your own kind.” It’s almost a question, but inflection seems to have abandoned Bellamy. The adrenaline is running out of his system, leaving him feeling nauseous and lightheaded. He gives up on trying to think, just responding to the information Clarke is volunteering.

“Mhm. Did you think the screaming was just some form of supernatural music? Most of us feed on each other. That’s why almost every ghouls is batshit insane. If you keep devouring your brethren without killing them first, a little bit of their consciousness latches onto yours. Eat enough snacks and suddenly you’re the minority in your own mind.” Clarke paces around him as she talks. Why is she telling him all this? Is any of it true? Bellamy’s natural curiosity peaks its head through the fog of adrenaline crash.

“But you’re not insane.” Once again, a statement to prompt information, rather than a question. She—when did it become a she?—intrigues Bellamy, he can’t deny it. Ghouls are mostly vicious beasts, so much of their society is unknown to humans. If he can keep her talking until sunrise, he might be able to make his way home and share this information.

“Nah, I’ve only got a few hanger-ons. Jasper, Finn, and Raven, my brood-mates. We were incubated in the same corpse, I hadn’t yet learned about killing your meals before eating them when I made them into snacks. It’s sort of cool being one of the few ghouls who can still speak and think coherently. Although it does get frustrating, being surrounding by gibbering idiots all the time.” She so human in her expressions and exasperation that, if Bellamy forgets the pointed teeth that flash every time she talks, he can almost imagine she’s just another colonist, complaining about their classmates. He feels a small laugh slip out in spite of himself, and Bellamy’s eyes immediately widen in shock as Clarke is suddenly inches away from his face, despite having just been behind him.

There’s something akin to wonder on her face, and a close-lipped smile from her prompts one to form on his own face. She reminds him of some of his friends from the other settlements, a little more wild, but mostly harmless to him. She reaches out and touches the corner of his lips, tracing the muscles in his face as if they’re somehow different from the ones in her own.

“A genuine laugh and a genuine smile. Nothing crazy about them.” Her voice has dropped to a whisper, and Bellamy blushes under her scrutiny. Her hand is cold against his warmed skin, but he knows it would be cold even if he was on the verge of death. She is death, a beast wearing the skin of some girl who had become its dinner at one point in the past. No matter how human it seems, no matter how intelligent and charming and beautiful it is, this thing in front of him is still a beast.

“Uhm..” Bellamy clears his throat and changes the topic, trying to get some more information from her, “I thought you guys couldn’t be killed?”

“We can be. I could tell you how, but that’s very sensitive information. Ghouls only, you know.” The pointed grin returns as she steps away and cocks her head at him. “I could trade a hint, though.”

“A hint? For what?” He has to know, or at least know enough to try and figure it out.

“Your name?” Even though her teeth show in the grin that accompanies that, it doesn’t seem predatory. It seems almost… friendly.

“Bellamy.” He knows she can kill him and sell his name now, but he doesn’t care. He needs to know, needs to at least have a chance of adding information to the books that he so loves to study.

“Nice to meet you, Bellamy.” He’s slightly surprised when she doesn’t rips his throat out immediately, but figures it must be coming soon. “Hmm… What can I tell you…”

Bellamy stays still as she ponders the hint to give him, not wanting to distract her or cause her to renege on their bargain. For some reason he trusts Clarke to hold up her end of the deal, and to not kill him after. 

“Yes, okay! You know how hybrids inherit all the weaknesses of their progenitors, right?”

“Yeah, a werewolf is susceptible to immediately fatal blows from its human ancestry and to silver from its pure lycan side. It’s really a fascinating field of study, but I don’t see what that has to do with ghouls.” Bellamy actually has a passion for hybrid studies, his study at home is filled with lore on ancestry alongside historical tomes.

“Well, that’s the thing. Ghouls are hybrids, little known fact.” Clarke seems proud of herself for being able to prove him wrong, and Bellamy is fine with it. When it comes to attaining new knowledge, he’s always fine with being wrong. “We’re special, though. A multi-hybrid, the only successfully stable one.”

Bellamy had seen preserved multi-hybrids, horrific monstrosities that were always insanely easy to defeat once you got past whatever warding spells or armour their creators placed on them. Sure, they had all the strengths of whatever that witch or scientists decided to throw into the mixing pot, but they also had every fatal flaw. Which is why every worthwhile hybrid only has two progenitors, just a couple of weaknesses that are hopefully outweighed by the benefits. Except for, apparently, ghouls.

“How? What did they mix together to produce something seemingly immortal?”

“Ah, ah, ah.” She wags her fingers at him in mock admonishment, “That would make it too easy. I will partially answer that, though. It’s not that we’re a mix of things without flaws, it’s that we can only be killed by every flaw combined. Like if a werewolf could only be killed by an immediately fatal wound with a silver weapon.”

Bellamy’s mind is whirring a million miles a minute, trying to figure out what makes up a ghoul. Everyone always thought they were an original species, like human or lycans or fae folk. This information… It could change everything, allow humans to traverse ghoul country at night without fear. Provided they can figure out what they came from.

“That’s fascinating. I wonder how it happened, and if that could be replicated. Not that I would want to, mind you, I’m not one of the geneticists who is obsessed with splicing together the perfect being. But the implication for health improvements for humans, if we could somehow figure out how to obtain the healing powers of a vampire without gaining their susceptibility to sunlight.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Or if you could figure out how to splice in the physical genes of harpys, the wings and eyesight and such, while still retaining your human sensibilities. Humanity could be so much more than it currently is, without sacrificing what makes you truly you.” At some point the distance between them had closed, and Bellamy had apparently grasped Clarke’s hands as they had posterized on the implications of this revelation. Clarke had clearly never considered it before, probably never having had reason to discuss scientific advancement with the slavering shadow beasts that are her kin. And Bellamy had never known such a thing was possible.

In their excitement, Bellamy had forgotten that Clarke is a predator, and he is her prey. That she is a monster. If only she wasn’t. She’s so interesting, and he can feel such a strong connection with her already. But they come from different worlds, worlds that are soon to be separated by the rising of the sun.

Clarke is the first to break their contact, turning away from him as if Bellamy had somehow managed to fluster her. She glances at the sky, still not shaded with rays of sun, apparently calculating the remaining night time in some way unknown to Bellamy. She sighs and turns back to him, looking genuinely sad.

“I should escort you to the road.The sun will rise not long after we get there, and I really ought to feed tonight.” Another reminder of the fact that she is hardly more than an animal, a fact that part of Bellamy vehemently denies.

“Yeah…” He follows her, staying close lest the shadows and the trees conspire to end his life even under her protection. The silence between them is heavy and sorrowful, the silence that signals the parting of kindred spirits. They don’t speak until they reach the road as the sky starts to turn a fraction of a shade towards blue. 

“You should come back some day.” Clarke blurts out after they’ve been standing awkwardly for a moment, neither of them leaving or saying goodbye. “You know, if you figure it out.”

Bellamy smiles softly and nods his head, “Even if I don’t figure it out.”

Clarke then reaches to her mouth and past her lips, grabbing hold of a tooth and ripping it from her gums. She hands it him, no blood leaking from the wound. Of course. She doesn’t have blood.

“If you come back, just prick a finger with this. Everyone will think I’m feeding on you, and I’ll be able to smell you.”

“Right, I’m a stinky human.” It feels natural to tease her, as if they’re old friends.

“Yup!” She grins broadly one last time, a pointed smile made slightly more ridiculous by a gap in the teeth, before turning and disappearing into the pre-dawn night. Bellamy turns his back on the screaming forest and tries not to think about how one of those shrieks may be Clarke feeding on a victim. 

He tries to reconcile the amazing girl he met with the monster he knows her to be as he makes the trek home. But his mind is weary from the travel, and he barely makes it into his study before slumping down in a chair and falling asleep, a pointed tooth clenched tightly in his hand.

\--

The pain is a sharp current that courses through Bellamy’s body for the briefest second as he breaks the skin of his finger. He desperately hopes that Clarke wasn’t lying to him, that this isn’t ultimately some ploy to get him to spill blood in ghoul territory and incite a feeding frenzy. Part of him trusts her, as a person, but another part of him loudly objects that she isn’t a person. She is an unknowable beast, an enigma that he will never be able to figure out simply because she is different. It’s a war that had been raging inside of him since he’d met her, his instinct to flee from or kill monsters warring with the memories of her excitedly chattering in the forest.

She hadn’t lied to him, from the information he’d been able to find in his books. Ghouls had been recorded as having telepathic abilities and being immortal in ancient texts, but having no regenerative capabilities. That would explain the “hanger ons” that Clarke had referred to. Someone being pissed off at having been eaten and deciding to stick around in the brain of their attacker.

And they are hybrids. It had been difficult to find, in sketchy mentions scattered throughout texts of ancient Arabian folklore, complement by jotted footnotes in explorers’ journals. What they’re hybrids of, Bellamy’s not quite sure. But he wants to find out.

It’s not long before a faint glow appears, resolving to be a smiling Clarke. She throws her arms around him in a fierce hug that shows Bellamy the true strength of the supernatural girl. He wraps his arms around her despite not being able to breath properly, happy that she came.

“Bell, I thought you weren’t going to come back!” There’s something slightly different about her voice, almost a little more manic than last time. Perhaps she’d forgotten to kill a meal.

“Heh, and pass up the chance to see the ghoul Princess again? No way.” He sits against a tree when she releases him, patting the ground next to him in invitation. She makes no noise as she seats herself, used to passing unheard through the woods.

“So, have you figured out how to do it?” She asks excitedly, clearly as interested in science as Bellamy is. He shakes his head ruefully in response.

“Not quite. I did figure out that what you told me was true, however. So, thanks.” She snorts at that.

“Of course it was true. Why would I lie?” Bellamy just shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. They sit for a moment longer, the silence much more pleasant this time. As if they are just two people hanging out under a tree, as if one of them doesn’t have shreds of flesh stuck between her teeth.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s heart beats faster as he draws her attention, getting an acknowledging hum from the blonde girl. “I’m sorry.”

Confusion is the only emotion he registers on her face as she turns towards him, “Sorry for wh--”

Her mouth falls open and her gaze travels down to her chest, where Bellamy’s hand is still clasped around the spike he’s driven into her chest. He feels as if someone has stabbed him as well, when Clarke looks at him with eyes full of pain. Her hands go to the base of it, but she collapses before she can pull it out of her. Bellamy pulls her into his lap and strokes her hair as a grey fluid leaks from the wound.

“W-why?” Her voice is shaky. He’d guessed correctly about what species she came from, then. Never in his life has Bellamy wanted to be wrong so badly.

“I had to know.” Tears well in his eyes, but he doesn’t allow them to fall. This was his decision, to end her life. He can’t feel sorry for himself because of that.

“Wh-at… am… I?” Her eyes are fluttering and the glow of her skin seems to fade. Why couldn’t he have been wrong?

“Human, the fatal blow. Spectre, an iron spike. Lesser demon, salt coating it. Familiar, unbinding runes carved into it. Four creatures in one, a miracle.” She smiles at him, and it hurts even more. Even in her moment of death she is one with him, desiring knowledge above all else.

“Fi...gured… it… out…” He nods, even though her eyes are closed now. She’ll never see him again. “Clever… stinky… boy…”

There’s a flare of light when she dies, and Bellamy finally allows the tears to fall. He hugs her to his chest, a friend that he had murdered for the sake of satiating his curiosity and protecting his people. In a few hours the sun will rise, and his colleagues will come looking for him. He hopes Murphy will be the one to find the note explaining his theory, detailing the potential weapon against the ghouls. Murphy will know what to do, he’ll be able to start the weaponizing of Bellamy’s crude spike.

Bellamy doesn’t pay attention to the screams of the forest, how they draw nearer to him with every second. He doesn’t watch the shadows grow and detach from the trees. None of the ghouls glow as she had.

But their teeth are just as sharp.


	2. Epilogue

Nothing hurts. That’s the first thing Bellamy notices. He’s always in pain, falling asleep on top of books and research. But his spine isn’t screaming at him, and he’s not asleep as far as he can tell. His eyes are closed, he thinks. Either that or everything is pure black.

Bellamy takes stock of himself, trying to figure out why he can’t remember where he is or what happened. Hands, feet, fingers, toes, arms, legs. He goes through a mental checklist while flexing his limbs to ensure they’re still there and fully functioning. Everything works, but way better than it ever has. The perpetual ache in his wrist from writing tiny words in hundreds of notebooks is gone. His knee doesn’t click when it bends, a holdover from a childhood injury.

He opens his eyes to see where he is. Maybe he ended up in the med ward and is on pain meds that somehow aren’t messing with his mind. But although Bellamy can feel his eyelids moving in slow blinks, the scene doesn’t change. Everything is black, to the point that he can’t see a finger even when he brushes it against his lashes. Maybe he’s gone blind. The thought sends his heart racing in panic. He can’t be blind, that would ruin his life at the academy.

_Calm down, you can figure this out._ Bellamy forces himself to listen to his rational side, taking deep breaths to calm his heart.

He then realizes that it’s not just his sense of sight that’s left him. He can’t hear his breathing, or when he attempts a shout. Screaming, whispering, clapping his hands. Nothing works. So he can’t hear, he can’t see, and unless he’s in the most scentless room of all time, he can’t smell. At least he can still feel his own limbs.

He starts from there, trying to figure out what he can feel. But there seems to be nothing other than Bellamy in this strange place. He can’t feel clothes, or a bed, or anything pressing against him. He’s floating in a void.

Of course he freaks out. Being stuck in sensory deprivation terrifies him, and that makes him angry. Bellamy yells, throws punches, tries to move, tries to get _anything_ to respond. He never grows tired, physically, but his mind wears down. Time doesn’t really matter, but he thinks he’s been there for hours. Maybe it’s been seconds or years, who knows.

Bellamy floats alone in the void for ages that pass in seconds, his mind working over every piece of information it can pick up and everything it has ever known to try and figure something out. He could be in a coma, or hallucinating. Or dead. Loneliness sets in at the thought of death. If this was his own mind, surely he would have imagined someone else by now. But aren’t there supposed to be other people in the afterlife?

The darkness starts to lighten. The first shade of grey that slips into the black is jarring, the only external input Bellamy receives. He twists his floating body towards the gradually changing area. With the hint of sight comes a noise. A low rumble, more felt in his bones than actually heard. As the brightness grows, so does the noise. It raises to a growl as the greys tend towards white, and suddenly Bellamy is trying to turn away from the light. He’s safe in the shadows, but there are no shadows in the light. And he doesn’t want to be found by the growling creature.

But there aren’t shadows any more. Bellamy is stuck in the painful white plain with the feral roar surrounding him. After his brief eternity of nothing, he feels like he’s on fire. He screams back at the noise, and it stops. Everything is silent again.

“Bellamy.” He knows that voice. Oh God, he knows that voice. And what it means.

“Clarke.” His voice catches in his throat as he turns to the most radiant point, which resolves itself into a beautiful young woman. “You were dead.”

“Am dead, actually. So are you.” Her voice is calmer than he remembers, and the pointed smile is gone from her face. She seems incredibly human.

“Dead. I guess I deserved that one.” _For killing you_ remains unspoken in the air between them. The silence stretches again, to the point that Bellamy fears he may be slipping back into that dreadful nothingness.

“I should probably thank you.” Clarke is the one to speak again, sending Bellamy’s mind racing.

“Why?” He blurts out, unable to fathom a reason why she would be anything other than pissed at him. He stabbed her in order to figure out how to kill her kind. Certainly he doesn’t deserve thanks.

“You remember how I told you I killed my meals before eating them, right?” Bellamy nods. “Well, that’s not true. I guess I was just stronger willed than most of the others. I thought I was killing them, but…”

Clarke trails off and then shrugs with a crooked smile, gesturing at the whiteness around them. Bellamy looks, really looks, and shapes resolves out of the mist. People, milling around and laughing, wrestling and enjoying themselves. Ghouls that Clarke had mistakenly fed on.

“When you killed me, you killed all of us. And now we have a chance at an afterlife.” Bellamy shakes off his shock at the sheer number of souls drifting around to turn his attention back to Clarke. “That’s something we could only dream of before, and now it’s within our grasp. So, thank you.”

“ _You’re welcome_ doesn’t seem quite appropriate here.” Bellamy says awkwardly. “Is this it? Your afterlife?”

“Guess so.” Clarke has a fond smile as she looks over at a gangly boy and dark skinned girl arguing over something. “It can be whatever we want it to be.”

Bellamy thinks back on his void. Is it possible that everyone gets their own eternity, whatever they think is most suitable? Bellamy had never believed in life after death, so that might make sense.

“Whatever you want, huh? Sounds nice.” He longs to join them, to stay in the light. But it’s not his life, death, whatever. He belongs in the darkness. Even now he can feel it growing, lapping at his ankles and drawing him back in. Clarke glances at his feet, and then back to his face with determination.

“You could join us.” Bellamy shakes his head, and Clarke lets out a sharp sigh. She holds out her hand.

“Join us, Bellamy. Your death is what you choose. You gave us a choice, and we’re making the best of it. Don’t doom yourself to that,” She nods at the shadows, “just because you killed me. You want forgiveness? Fine, I'll give it to you, you're forgiven, okay? As long as you don’t leave me again.”

She’s kneeling on the edge of his void now, reaching out for the last traces of him. She should give up. Why won’t she give up? The guilt pulls Bellamy down, but at the fierce stubborn set of Clarke’s glare, something inside him responds. The part that refuses to believe a fact can’t be found, the part that fights to improve defences so his family can sleep safe at night.

So Bellamy reaches out, grabbing a pale hand that feels perfectly warm in his grasp. Clarke pulls him from the chasm and smiles, revealing that her pointed teeth are gone. Maybe here, in that space beyond life, you reflect your inner being. And Clarke was never a monster. He notices that many of them do seem to be human, as Clarke is now. Some still have ghoulish teeth, but they interact with the other spirits no differently.

Bellamy looks at his own hands for the first time. He expects human skins, five fingers, and normal fingernails. Not tiny grey scales, and what appears to be fingerlike talons. He carefully runs his fingers over his face, feeling warped features. A monster.

Clarke’s hand stops his obsessive searching of his new visage. “Do you want to know the best thing about this place, Bellamy?” He gives an automatic nod, still trying to comprehend his transformation.

“Things can change.”

And maybe his hand, when her own grasps it, begins to change shades towards human flesh. But then again, maybe being a monster isn’t as bad as he once thought. Bellamy smiles at Clarke, and follows her over to some of the others, determined to not mess up this life with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there was a prompt for "Clarke. You were dead." on the [Bellarke Writers Network](http://bellarkewritersnetwork.tumblr.com), and this sorta happened! See, I'm not completely evil. This is almost even a happy ending, I think. Thanks to the only slightly forgetful [coldsaturn](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com) for editing this!
> 
> Come talk to me [on tumblr!](http://randommaces.tumblr.com) As always, thank for commenting/viewing/leaving kudos <3

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I felt like I was being too mean to my ever so patient editor [coldsaturn](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com) by only inflicting sad endings on her (none of my tragic fics have been completed yet). So here you all go! :D I would say more, but it's almost 6am, and I have no words left
> 
> Come talk to me [on tumblr](http://randommaces.tumblr.com)! Thanks in advance for commenting/viewing/leaving kudos <3


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